


I've Been Biting All My Cherry Hearts in Two

by orphan_account



Category: Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol, Character Study, Cuddling of Sorts, Excessive Drinking, Fluff, M/M, Messing Around While Drunk, Praise Kink, Surreal, Valentine’s Day, public intoxication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 10:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17786045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jason likes to break Dick down. Dick likes to take Jason apart. They just need a little emotional lubricant to get what they both want.





	I've Been Biting All My Cherry Hearts in Two

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be posting a few Valentine's Day themed fics today :) It's one of my favorite holidays!

Dick didn’t drink. Jason did. Sometimes, Jason could convince Dick to sip a beer or cocktail after patrol, in the safety of one of Jason’s safe houses. Away from the expectations and co-dependencies on Bruce and the Titans and Tim and Damian and Bludhaven, Dick wasn’t golden. He was just gold plated.

He was also a lightweight, to Jason’s unadulterated delight.

“Share a beer?” Jason asked Dick, after he’d dragged Dick’s bruised and irritable body into one of Jason’s grungier Gotham safe houses. Their run-in with Bane was well-won, with a shot to Bane’s favorite liquid steroid. But Jason wasn’t Annie Oakley, and placing a bullet in Bane’s supply without that bullet finding a home in flesh took Dick’s talent for distraction. Though, if Jason were honest, he held his shot longer than necessary. He did love Dick with a busted lip.

“Sure,” Dick grumbled, peeling away his mask and chucking it. Jason discarded his own masks, both eye and face, as a show of good faith. “I call first sip,” Dick added.

Spoiled, Dick was always so spoiled. The first sip was the most satisfying. Nevertheless, Jason snorted and fetched a bottle from the six pack stored next to his emergency blood bags in the refrigerator. He popped it open on the bottle opener fixed into the counter and brought it to Dick. Dick accepted it and took a swig rather than the promised sip.

“Oh. That’s actually good. Leave it to you to keep craft beer in a safe house.”

Jason scoffed. “I only ever buy local, Goldie.” Jason paused, measuring whether or not he wanted to offer further information, how far he wanted to invite Dick into mundanities. “One of my enforcers owns that brewery,” Jason decided.

“Tell him Nightwing said he makes good beer,” Dick murmured, still clutching the bottle. Jason cut his losses and retreated to the kitchen to fetch a second one.

“He doesn’t need a mask telling him that, he knows,” Jason called, popping open his own beer and returning to lean against the living room threshold. He sipped his beer and watched Dick kick off his boots and lay out on the ground. 

“I have a couch,” Jason said. Dick scrunched his nose.

“I’m coated in calcified sweat, I’m not about to rub into your couch.”

“Considerate,” Jason murmured. He watched as Dick nearly drowned himself trying to drink a beer while horizontal. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, until Dick’s beer was finished.

“Another?” Jason offered.

“No,” Dick said, staring up at the ceiling. “My stomach’s unsettled. Probably from being shaken like a rag doll by a hopped up brick wall.”

“So, a Moscow mule then,” Jason said, already headed towards the cabinets where he kept an industrial sized handle of vodka. It was next to his drugstore first aid kit. After a trip back to the fridge for cans of ginger beer, he was already mixing the cocktails in two rocks glasses before Dick even managed to stand and limp after him.

“I don’t have lime juice,” Jason conceded, handing a mug to Dick. “Or ice. But ginger is good for disgruntled rag dolls.”

Dick snorted. “No lime juice? A tragedy.” He took a sip and made a face. “Jesus, Jason. Is this vodka or rubbing alcohol?”

Jason shrugged. “I use it for both,” he offered. “Stop being a prick and enjoy my hospitality while you have it, before I lay you out on the fire escape for a bat to find.”

With that, Dick shut up and drank his rubbing alcohol. Jason sipped at his own drink and watched Dick with sharp eyes as a flush slowly but surely spread across his nose and cheeks.

Jason tipped back his head and downed the rest of the mule, so that he could blame the blossoming warmth in his core on the liquor.

Half an hour later, they were both splayed on the couch, chasing shots of vodka with craft beer and arguing over whether or not Michael Peterson killed his second wife. But then the conversation lulled and Jason caught Dick staring at him, head cocked. His eyes were unfocused, his movements languid as he sloppily poured some more vodka into his glass.

“Christ, Dick, look at what you’re doing,” Jason growled, leaning forward to confiscate the vodka. In doing so, he just knocked the bottle out of Dick’s hands, where it fell to the floor and soaked the carpet.

“Fuck me,” Jason said.

“I would,” Dick blurted. Jason glanced at him sharply. Dick’s glassy eyes were trained on him, and his knuckles were white around his glass. “I’d fuck you if you let me.”

Jason snorted. “C’mon, Dickface. We’re going to the liquor store, I gotta replace that in case I need stitches next time or somethin’.”

They tried to change Dick into a spare set of Jason’s civilian clothes, but neither could figure out how to pry off the Nightwing uniform in their inebriated state. And so they slapped their masks back on and went out the fire escape.

On the way there, Jason scratched at his face. “My mask doesn’t feel right,” he growled, prodding at the edges of it. “I think I fucked up my mask.”

Dick burst into a fit of giggles. “It’s a mask, Jay. You can’t fuck up a mask.”

The liquor store was blissfully quiet, it being 4am on a Thursday. The clerk’s jaw nearly clattered to the floor. Dick saluted him. 

“Careful,” Dick slurred. “You’re face is gonna get stuck like that.”

Jason grabbed Dick by the collar and drug him along. After some bickering, they settled on a handle of vodka, some heinous blueberry flavored tequila, and cinnamon whiskey. Jason just wanted the vodka, but Dick insisted on the rest “to match.”

“To match what?” Jason scoffed.

Dick’s face scrunched up. “Y’know. Match.” He paused, mulling over what few words he had access to in his limited capacity. “Cinnamon is red and spicy like you, and I’m blue.” Satisfied, he beamed at Jason.

“You’re stupid and I hate you,” Jason muttered as his chest ached with affection. They paid for the alcohol, the clerk rendered speechless. Until they were about to leave. The clanging of the bell and a gust of chilled wind preceding the clerk’s cleared throat. Both men paused, halfway out the door, to give the clerk their full attention. The clerk blanched.

“Um, you’re, uh. I think your m-masks are mixed up,” the clerk near whispered. Jason looked at Dick, just now recognizing the red domino. Dick cocked his head at Jason and then burst into giggles again.

“You’re a blue-Jay,” Dick snorted. Jason grabbed the back of Dick’s neck and drug him away before he could further compromise their identities.

Back at the safe house, Dick wasted no time in sampling their purchases.

“It  _is_ tasty,” Dick rambled, sipping at the tequila. “You said it wouldn’t be, but it is, come taste it. It's so fucking good, I want to bathe in it.”

Jason huffed and collapsed on the couch behind Dick, who was bouncing on his heels while dying his lips blue. “Take off my mask, y’ur ruining it with your you-ness." He demonstrating how to properly remove a mask by removing the Nightwing domino and plastering it on Dick’s ass. Dick didn’t even jump.

“If you can grab my ass you can come take the mask off me yourself,” Dick sing-songed, looking over his shoulder at Jason. Jason looked away.

“I didn’t _grab_ your ass,” he retorted.

“You can, if you want,” Dick said, counterintuitively turning to face Jason. The Red Hood mask was comically big on his narrower face, but Jason decided it looked good there all the same.

Jason reached past Dick to snag the cinnamon whiskey from the coffee table. He opened it with a satisfying snap of the seal and then took a gulp.

“Fuck off,” he mumbled through burning lips.

Dick set aside the tequila, poured himself on the couch, and then climbed into Jason’s lap, straddling his waist and crowding him. Jason wanted to be irritated. He tried his best to muster up a semblance of irritation. His efforts were fruitless, it was as if his amygdala had whiskey dick. Jason certainly didn’t have whiskey dick. He took another swig of the cinnamon liquor.

“You only want me when you’re drunk,” Jason muttered into the bottle. Dick tilted his head. Contemplative, even with indigo lips. Everything about Dick was blue, blue as forget-me-nots.

“You only want me to want you when we’re drunk.” Dick rolled his hips and Jason choked. “I want you all of the time.”

Jason tilted his head back and glared at the ceiling. Dick tangled his fingers in Jason’s hair and scratched soothingly at his scalp. Finally, Jason lifted his head. Dick dove his fingers deeper into Jason’s thick, black hair, until his hands found Jason’s neck. He dug his fingers into Jason’s skin, massaging the muscle there. It set Jason’s nerves alight, and he shuddered.

“We can’t fuck, it’s not...” Jason grappled with his drunken haze and the pleasure from the impromptu massage, wrestling to remember the right word. “Kosher?” He pitched, unsure. Dick laughed, and Jason flushed. The correct language hit him like a freight train and he blurted, “Safe!”

With a snort, Dick hunched over Jason, tilting Jason’s chin up in such a way that Jason’s breath caught in his throat. Jason clutched onto the whiskey tightly, resisting the urge to lay a hand on Dick even as Dick pressed his lips to Jason’s, nibbling Jason’s bottom lip and molding their bodies as closely together as he could without breaking their necks. Dick's lips tasted sweet and coppery. Vaguely, Jason recalled Dick's busted lip. 

Dick pulled away and murmured, “I only want what you want to give me.”

Jason looked up at him. “You look like shit,” Jason offered, taking in the mask, nudged askew, and Dick’s stained, swollen, lopsided grin. Bruises discolored his cheeks, and his hair was limp and stiff from sweat. Longing burned behind Jason’s rib cage, sharper than the warmth of the alcohol.

“You’re beautiful,” Dick cooed, kissing Jason’s forehead. “Beautiful jaw, beautiful cheekbones, so empathetic it hurts you sometimes. I don’t think you’re told enough, but you’re so fucking beautiful,” Dick’s voice deepened into a commanding growl. Jason swallowed hard.

“Shuddup,” Jason mumbled, leaning up to try and catch Dick’s mouth again. Dick pulled away and Jason whimpered.

“No,” Dick grinned like a Cheshire. “I’m going to tell you how good you are, and you’re going to fucking take it.” Dick punctuated himself by gently brushing his knuckles across Jason's cheek.

Jason’s groan caught in his throat. He dropped the whiskey, but Dick caught it with dexterity that called to question his intoxication. Then, he tipped the bottle back and gulped the alcohol. Jason hesitantly sat up, craned his neck, and licked Dick’s Adam’s apple as it bobbed. Dick set aside the whiskey and shuddered.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, little wing,” Dick rasped.


End file.
